


A (Second) Wedding and (Maybe) a Funeral

by Armengard



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Bad Flirting, Chloe has no chill, F/F, Pretty Dresses, Saris, Semi-established relationship, Uncharted: The Lost Legacy - Freeform, fancy parties, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 07:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12316647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Armengard/pseuds/Armengard
Summary: Chloe Frazer and Nadine Ross attend a renewing of the vows for their friends, Nathan and Elena Drake.But they are NOT together.(yes they are)





	A (Second) Wedding and (Maybe) a Funeral

“Well?” says Chloe, giving herself a little twirl. “What do you think?”

Nadine stares.

And stares.

And stares.

Then, as Chloe’s grin grows wolfish and triumphant, thinking maybe she’ll get pounced, or kissed stupid, or _something_ , Nadine just coughs, and then blinks rapidly, like she’s snapped out of a particularly vivid daydream.

“…Ja,” she says at last, “you, ah, you look nice.” Then she clears her throat and looks away, fiddling with the car keys, the hard, stringy muscles in her wrists and forearms twitching just the way Chloe likes with every flick of her strong, dexterous fingers. Fingers that should be fiddling and flicking with something else right about now, but aren’t.

Shame.

Chloe sighs and turns back to the mirror, pouting and trying not to feel _too_ disappointed. True, her partner’s reaction is a little… underwhelming. Not that Nadine has ever been a woman of many words. That’s more Chloe’s thing—and she’s already spent the last hour or so showering Nadine with a deluge of lecherous but completely honest compliments on her own outfit; a well-cut light blue summer dress to go with that well-cut body of hers. The color brings out the warm glow of Nadine’s brown skin and the subtle dusting of freckles and beauty marks along the rise of her cheekbones. Her hair is loose and bouncy and thick, the lowest curls just brushing the tops of those glorious shoulders of hers. The hem is modest, but not dowdy. Chloe can see Nadine’s chiseled calves, her thick, muscled hamstrings, the curve of her solid flanks, and the very beginnings of her inner thighs. She’s seen it all many times (been intimately acquainted, you could say) but those quick, flitting glimpses of soft, tender skin peeking from beneath the flirty hem as Nadine shifts her weight from one foot to the other, still manages to make Chloe’s heart stagger.

In short, she looks absolutely ravishing.

Really, Chloe isn’t surprised. She’s convinced Nadine can pull anything off, and dresses are definitely one of them. Usually, though, Nadine is pulling them off Chloe.

Not today, it seems.

“I’m, uh, gonna wait outside,” Nadine blurts suddenly, and then ducks out of the bathroom so abruptly it’s almost… _rude_.

Now the bathroom is quiet and lonely, and Chloe is left feeling strangely bereft. Nadine didn’t have to leave. The staring was nice. Chloe likes staring, especially when Nadine is the one doing it. She’d just hoped for some words to go along with it. Words like, _you look amazing in that, Chloe, now bend over,_ or, _your tits are literally_ killing _me, how late can we be to this thing, because I need you right now, now, now?_

“I’m, _uhhhhh_ , gonna wait outside,” Chloe mutters to herself, in a badly rendered mimicry of Nadine’s South African accent. Ah, well. Nadine’s been off today, anyways. Squirrelly. Which she never is. Chloe has only ever known her to be cool and composed and knee-wateringly confident in nearly all atmospheres, the bedroom very much included.

Maybe it’s a good thing, though, that Nadine is acting so oddly, because they actually _can’t_ be late today—not because Chloe doesn’t want to be late, because she does, she really, really _does_ —but because today is the day her good friends Nathan Drake and Elena Fisher-Drake (or whatever it is she’s decided to do with her last name) are celebrating their downright nauseatingly-perfect-white-picket-fence love for one other on the fourth (or is it third? fifth?) anniversary of their marriage. And, to do that, they’re getting married, _again_.

 _Ugh_. Chloe fights back a shiver. To her, it’s difficult to fathom such a thing. Getting married once seems bad enough. All that commotion, all that fuss, all those rules. But twice? Clearly, there’s something wrong with the two of them, she’s decided. But she’s still planning on going to the ceremony, because she was invited, after all, and they’re her friends, and sometimes, she just needs a break from treasure hunting.

So, in honor of the occasion, Chloe has decided to embrace the festivities and is trying something new; she’s wearing a real, bonafide _sari_ , traditional Indian women’s clothing, the outfit compliments of Meenu, her little friend back in India, who sold Chloe the set for what she called a “special-pizza-pal” discount, though Chloe is still halfway convinced the precocious girl gutted her for twice the amount of a local.

Her _sari_ is, of course, red—as if she’d pick any other color. It’s woven from the very finest of silk threads, the luxurious material nearly liquid in its richness, rippling in the light, supple to the touch. Chloe wants to roll around naked in it all day, preferably with her treasure-hunting partner on top of her, growling filthy things in her ear.

Not now, though. Chloe forces herself to stop fantasizing, but makes a mental note to indulge herself later. There will be time, she’s sure.

It’s taken much longer than she’s anticipated, simply putting it on, the _sari_. She was overly confident, at first, refusing Nadine’s help in figuring out how to properly wear it, and, in her first attempt, ended up tangled like a gasping fish in a net.

So, she Googled it. Disaster averted.

The _sari_ is comprised of three different sections. First is a simple white cloth shift, tied with a drawstring around Chloe’s waist. Easy enough. It covers her from arse to ankles, sort of like a dress slip. Traditionally, it’s called a petticoat, but Chloe does not wear petticoats. Grandmothers wear petticoats. Chloe is not a grandmother.

She is, however, and heaven forbid, a _godmother_.

Next comes the bulk of her _sari_ , a single-piece nine-yard length of shimmering red silk, one edge tucked into the slip at her waist. It gets wrapped once, twice around her hips, and then comes the difficult part—the decorative pleats. They have to be perfect and precise two-inch folds. Chloe is only somewhat embarrassed with how long it took her to get them right.

Now, the silk hangs flat to the tops of her feet—bare, in going with tradition, each foot bedecked with softly tinkling golden ankle bracelets, her peeking toenails painted a vibrant red to match—and brushes the floor when Chloe moves. When she twirls, the fabric fans out and sighs longingly, and Chloe sighs with it.

Only about a third or so of the _sari_ is around her waist; the rest hangs loose, for now. Once her makeup and accessories are finished, Chloe will choose how to wear the loose end—the _pallu_ , she believes it’s called—either hung over her shoulder, or draped up and across the back of her head.

The third and final section to her outfit is the _choli_ , a customary short-sleeved blouse with tiny pearl buttons done neatly up the back, hugging her full chest high and close. As long as she doesn’t take too deep a breath, it’s comfortable. Her stomach and ribs are bare, neck and collarbones similarly exposed. Her bellybutton is out for everyone to see. The red silk of the _choli_ is embroidered with fine golden thread in a design so intricate Chloe gets dizzy looking at it.

She is not wearing underwear, simply because it would ruin the appeal, wouldn’t it? Plus, Google didn't explicitly specify if she had to wear any. Chloe knows how to make an executive decision.

To complete her ensemble, her long black hair has been brushed to perfection and hangs in a loosely threaded braid over her left shoulder. She’s even ringed her eyes with smoky black _khol_ and decorated her brow with a cheap set of glinting, sticker-backed bindis. Bracelets rattle at her wrists, and gaudy earrings dangle from her earlobes. There isn’t an ounce of legitimate gold on her body, but it’s the thought that counts, and the end effect is superb.

It’s taken practically the entire morning to get to here, but Chloe is pleased with the outcome. The _sari_ is breathtakingly beautiful, and she’s excited to show it and herself off. Today, she can tell, is going to be fun.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” is the first thing Nadine says when Chloe steps out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, trying to figure out how to properly drape her _pallu_ with snarling it up in her hair.

Chloe scoffs at her. “Please. I did not just go through three hours of getting ready for you to back out now, Ross.”

“No, really, I—”

“Do you see this fabric? Touch it. Smooth as glass. I practically had to iron it onto me, to keep it from getting wrinkles.”

“These are _your_ friends, not mine,” Nadine says, and there is the very beginnings of a childish, pleading edge to her tone. “The Drakes hate me.”

“Oh, they do not!”

“I threw Nathan out a window. I’ve tried to kill Sam I don’t know how many times.”

“And I’ve betrayed Nate once or twice, but who’s counting! See, we’ve all done it. It’s no big deal. You’re my partner, Nadine—”

Now Nadine looks a little panicked, eyes going wide, fists clenching. She gets up from the couch to pace their hotel room like a cornered animal. Chloe has only ever seen her behave like this in instances when they are either surrounded by bloodthirsty mercenaries or trapped in an ancient tomb slowly filling with sizzling acid. “Right. Your partner. That’s what they all think, don’t they.”

“Because you are!” Chloe snaps, frustrated more with her _sari_ than Nadine. She settles with draping the _pallu_ over her shoulder for now, as the safer option. She is not prepared to rebraid her hair a third time in as many hours.

“They’re going to look at me, and _know_ ,” Nadine says.

“Know what?”

“That we’re… That we…”

“What, that we fuck each other’s brains out every night, and have been doing so for the past, oh, I don’t know,” Chloe mimes checking a watch that isn’t there, just to be a brat, “just about a goddamn year?”

She can _feel_ Nadine’s resulting blush, even from across the room. Really, flustered is a good look on her—it lends a certain brightness to her eyes, and a hearty color to her stern face. The way she clenches her fists is nice too, the muscles in her forearms and triceps squeezing and flexing. A familiar vein pops into view on her left bicep. Chloe is particularly fond of that vein. She’s nibbled it God knows how many times over the past few months.

“You promised,” Nadine says with the barest hint of a warning.

Chloe stares at her, a little lost. Really, that vein is a bit too distracting for this argument, but who can blame her. “Promised?”

“Not to tell anyone about us!”

Oh, that. “I didn’t. I haven’t. Nobody knows.”

Nadine almost slumps with relief, in a way that’s very close to insulting.

“Good,” she says, sounding a little more calm. “Good.”

“Why does it matter, anyways?” Chloe presses, feeling a little miffed. “So we regularly eat each other out to exhaustion, or you rail my arse with a strap-on and give me upwards of five toe-curling orgasms a day. Who cares? Who _cares?_ ”

Nadine looks about two seconds from either jumping out a window or clapping both hands over Chloe’s flapping mouth to get her to shut up.

“I care!” she cries. “That’s _my_ business!”

“Your business? Just yours? Right, because you’re the only one there, in that bed, screaming your bloody head off?”

Chagrined, Nadine backpedals, “Our business, I meant… I… Look, you know me. You know I’m a private person. I don’t like when people know things they don’t need to. What we do in private—”

“Which I like very much!” Chloe interrupts, just in case Nadine has read this wrong and is thinking of breaking it off. “And would like to continue in the future!”

“—is _private_ ,” Nadine finishes.

“Right,” says Chloe, fake nonchalant. “Which means my friends can’t know, but your men can, because _that_ makes sense.”

“That’s different,” Nadine insists.

“Sure it is.”

“I told you, I didn’t plan on telling them, it just—”

“You had a bloody _conference_ about it, don’t tell me you didn’t _plan_ on it—”

“To protect you! They needed to know!”

“Listen,” Chloe says, frazzled, fighting not to roll her eyes because that will only piss Nadine off more, and her partner is already about two breaths away from refusing to go to these insipid repeat nuptials with her, and Chloe is not showing up stag. Not today. “I don’t want to fight, alright, china? I’ve put way too much effort into my outfit to ruin it over a silly argument. I promise I will not say anything about us to the Drakes, or Elena, or Sully, or whoever else might show up to this stupidly unnecessary celebration. I won’t even sit next to you, if you insist. Or speak to you, even though you're in that dress, and your arse looks like _that_. Okay?”

Nadine huffs, looking disappointed Chloe hasn’t entirely banned her from coming. “…Ja. Alright.”

“Good. Now give me a kiss.”

“Don’t want to smudge your makeup,” Nadine mutters, though she’s already stepping closer.

“I’m not wearing lipstick. Come here.”

Reluctantly, Nadine—who is the taller one at the moment, wearing heels while Chloe is barefoot—leans down and pecks her quickly on the mouth. It is, in fact, the shortest kiss Chloe believes they’ve ever had. She grabs Nadine by the back of the neck and rectifies that, but doesn’t go overboard, because, once again, they can’t be late!

Before they leave, Nadine ducks into the bathroom to fix her own mussed lipstick, and Chloe heads out to the parking lot. Instantly, the heat from outside batters through the chill of the air-conditioned hotel room, and sweat pops from every pore on her body in about three seconds. Ugh. Why, again, did Elena and Nate decide to live by a beach? Chloe can see the appeal, sure, but how long could the charm possibly last? Sand must get _everywhere_.

By the door is one of Nadine’s most trusted men, Ace. Probably, he heard everything they were shouting about inside, strap-ons and orgasms included, but seems entirely unfazed, as usual.

“Heading out, Miss Frazer?” he says. He will stay at the hotel today and tonight, making sure their rooms are safe and secure in their absence. Another man will accompany them to the ceremony, just to keep an eye out. Chloe’s already run it by Nate. It was the only way she could get Nadine to come at all, so she was relieved when he reluctantly agreed to allow it.

“Don’t wait up,” she says with a smile, and hot-steps it to the car, her bare soles smarting at the searing pavement beneath her feet. Maybe she should bring a pair of sandals, just in case…

Another vehicle idles by their rented car. Their backup, the emblem of Shoreline painted on the driver-side door. Chloe waves, and thinks of the argument she and Nadine just had. She can still remember the exact look on the faces of Nadine’s men, the day Chloe had gone to visit her partner one morning in South Africa.

 

—

 

After the unforgettable events in the Western Ghats of India, and the ill-be-gotten and -given Tusk of Ganesh, Chloe and Nadine had officially teamed up and, after a week or two of rest, they’d gone on a wild, giddy spree of treasure hunting, following nearly every half-baked lead Chloe could find. Most ended up being wild-goose chases, but a few panned out, and with the money earned, they funded more and more trips, spiraling into a whirlwind of adventure. It was wild, and exciting, and, most of all, fun.

And then, three months later, out of nowhere, Nadine was contacted by Shoreline.

With Orca gone, the company, already on its last legs from Nadine’s sudden ejection and Asav's bloody end, had cannibalized itself. Some of the men still sided with Orca, wanting to run guns, drugs, and potential civil-war inciting bombs. Others remained loyal to Nadine, and the memory of her father, Shoreline’s founder. Simply put, the men turned on each other, and Nadine’s came out on top.

To their credit, the men who were left waited until things were a little more settled before trying to locate their ousted leader. They ran jobs—honest ones, semi-legal, protection and deliveries, mostly—and built their funds and weapon stocks up until they thought and hoped they were ready.

Nadine had refused to listen to them at first. She hung up every time the phone rang. She deleted emails and ripped up mailed letters. The first time she and Chloe were physically approached—broad daylight, the single man unarmed, unthreatening—Nadine punched him full in the face, knocking him out cold. If Chloe hadn’t been there to talk her down, she probably would’ve killed him.

Shoreline was Nadine’s weakness, Chloe knew. Her gut punch, her kick in the stones. It’d hurt her so badly, when she’d been driven away, when she’d lost it on her watch, as she’d said. But now it’d come crawling back, begging for another chance.

“If you love something, let it go,” Chloe told her. “If it comes back…”

Eventually, Nadine, after many discussions with her partner, decided to at least speak to them.

A month or so later, she traveled to South Africa, and, some time after that, a contract was written up, sealing the deal. Once again, Nadine Ross had become the sole owner and head of Shoreline.

Chloe found she was surprisingly pleased with the outcome. Having Shoreline meant it would never be just her and Nadine in a gunfight anymore. They’d never be outnumbered again. On any expedition, after they’d decided their next destination, Nadine would make a call, and a dozen or so men would be waiting for them the moment they arrived, armed with a plethora of vehicles and gear, ready to escort them safely to their tomb or tower or ruin. They kept their distance, too, sticking to the flanks and outskirts, which Chloe liked, because the treasure hunting was for her and her partner, no one else.

Sometimes, though, she missed the solitude. The quiet of the jungle, surrounding her and Nadine. The heart-pounding adrenaline bursting through her veins when they leapt from sheer cliffs and caught each other’s hands as they slid down black-mouthed ravines.

Getting shot at, though, she did not miss at all.

Six months after India, and only a couple months after she and Nadine had started sleeping together, Chloe made a visit to the Shoreline headquarters, based on the coast of South Africa, Cape Town. She’d never been, and Nadine had spent the last few days there, laying out a schedule of jobs for her men. Chloe was bored with all the sitting and waiting, itching for their next score, an artifact they’d been trailing to Madagascar, so she’d showed up unannounced to the large warehouse the company ran out of, looking for her partner.

Shoreline, as she was well aware, had plenty of toys to play with—an army of jeeps, SUVs and motorcycles were parked in rows, high-stacked crates filled with guns of all kinds recovered from corrupt warlords and regimes littering the base. There was even an actual _tank_.

The warehouse was mostly empty of people, as almost all the mercenaries had already been sent out on work, but Chloe wandered further inside and soon found five Shoreline men in a breakroom of sorts, drinking beer and laughing raucously, surrounded by rubbish of past revelations—crumpled soda cans, pizza boxes, take-out containers. Every man there was thick with hard, knotted muscle and covered in scars. One was missing an eye. Another, his hand.

“G’day, boys,” Chloe said warmly in her customary smoky purr, walking in to a cloud of cigarette smoke and musty sweat with all the casualty of a young woman interrupting a group of her own friends at a slumber party. “How’s it going?”

Instantly, every man there was on his feet. Someone dropped their beer. Another didn’t appear to be breathing. Chloe had never seen a group of grown adults so frightened. One actually _eeped_.

“Alright?” she chuckled.

“Ah—ah,” managed one of the men, a brute nearly seven feet tall. Big Boy, that one. “Ah!”

She tried another tactic.

“Nadine here?” she asked, and they all flinched. One gasped.

“S-sorry, ma’am!” said Big Boy. He had a thick South African accent, like Nadine. “She’s out. Should be back soon, though.”

“We can go fetch her,” another offered, an American, already lacing his ragged combat boots to do just that.

“Nah, that’s alright,” Chloe said, waving him off. “Her office is…?”

Big Boy pointed. His finger was trembling.

“Thanks,” said Chloe, and winked at them. Nothing. Right. She sauntered off, and almost laughed when the men, as a group, toddled along after her, looking trapped somewhere between outlandish fear and a feverish desire to please.

Nadine’s office was irrationally neat. Chloe pulled her chair back and plunked herself down to fold her boots on top of her bare desk. Cautiously, the men shuffled closer, peeking through the doorway at her. One ventured inside, a patch over his missing eye.

“C-can we get you anything, ma’am?”

“What’s your names?” Chloe asked, curious.

“Er.” The men looked among one another, unsure, then took turns introducing themselves.

“Bronco, ma’am,” said a rougeish Italian-looking fellow, the one missing his hand.

“I’m Ace,” said the man with one eye.

“Biggie,” said Big Boy. Chloe smiled extra wide at him.

“Scout,” said the one with an unattractively large beard.

“I’m Fred,” said the last, awkwardly. The American. “Just Fred.”

“Well, boys,” Chloe said, fiddling with the chair so it could lean back a bit further. “First thing. _Don’t_ call me ma’am.”

Biggie went ashy pale at that one. “Sorry, ma’am—ah, miss!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Chloe soothed. “Second thing. Relax! I’m not your boss. Take a seat, let’s chat, get to know each other!”

Nobody moved.

“Alright,” said Chloe. “What is it? Am I that scary?”

“N-no ma’am— _miss!_ ” said Biggie. “It’s, it’s just… Miss Ross, she, er…”

“She said,” finished Fred, “if you ever came here, and we didn’t treat you with every bit of respect we had or failed to do anything and everything you say, she’d, uh…”

Chloe’s grin broadened even further, intrigued. “She’d what?”

“I… I can’t repeat what she said in front of a lady.”

“I’m no lady!” Chloe laughed.

Fred looked at the others, then said so quickly Chloe could barely understand, “She said she’d tear off our balls and shove 'em so far down our throats we’d have to, er, shit 'em out if we wanted to scratch ‘em.”

Chloe laughed herself sick, and then, afterwards, dissolved into a fit of belly-aching coughs.

“C-can we get you a drink, maybe?” offered Ace, looking hopeful to serve. “Or s-something to eat?”

Chloe cleared her throat and eyed them, wondering to what extent they’d go to please her. Really, this was sort of fun. “Do you have tea?”

The men exchanged uncertain glances. Scout and Fred raced off into another room. She heard some rummaging, cupboard doors slamming, and then a tinny crash as some pots fell over. After a moment, Scout stuck his head back into the room, beard-first. “We got peppermint.”

“No Earl Grey?” Chloe teased, and Scout looked stricken.

“W-we can go get some!” he insisted.

“Peppermint’s fine,” Chloe said, and as one, the men’s shoulders lowered in relief. Biggie looked like he was praying, or giving thanks to some Almighty energy. Scout even cracked a shaking smile.

Chloe chuckled to herself, tickled pink. It was beyond hilarious that these big, burly men who probably killed more baddies before breakfast than anyone else did in a lifetime were so terrified of Nadine, and, in extension, Chloe herself.

Really, the only thing that could’ve made her morning better was an orgasm.

Nadine returned from her business half an hour later, looking tired but beautiful as ever, thick hair slicked back into a rigid ponytail, tight t-shirt darkened with patches of sweat, belt riding high on the curve of her arse. She discovered her men, who should’ve been guarding the warehouse with their lives, entertaining Chloe with a tentative game of poker in her own office, though most of them were too chicken-shit to bet anything other than loose change.

“There she is!” Chloe cried cheerfully, spotting her, and the men jumped to their feet to stand at attention. Biggie snapped a salute.

“Miss Ross!” he said.

“At ease,” Nadine replied, and then walked straight up to Chloe and kissed her on the mouth.

“Ah,” Chloe said, blinking in shock. “Hi there.” Nadine gave her a slow smile, eyelids heavy, half-lowered, her hard edges gone soft with weariness. Idly, Chloe noticed not one of the five men behind them looked the slightest bit surprised. They knew, she realized with a start. But how—?

“Dismissed,” Nadine said, and the men filed out in a rush to get back on patrol. “Sorry,” she said to Chloe. “Took longer than I thought, finishing up here.”

“It’s alright,” Chloe said. “I had fun with the boys. They made me tea.”

“Tea?” Nadine repeated, and clicked her tongue in amusement. “How bad was it?”

“Oh, horrible.”

They laughed. Nadine kissed her again, slower this time, then pulled away, biting her bottom lip, looking nervous. “Listen. I, ah, told them about you. I mean, they know you’re my partner, but they also know you’re my… _partner_.”

“I gathered,” Chloe said dryly.

“Hope that’s okay,” Nadine went on, eyes on their feet, as if preparing for reproach. “I wanted them to fully understand how important it was that you were safe, and treated right. Especially when we’re out there, you know? They would’ve protected my work partner, sure. But they’d _die_ for my… my woman. Get it?”

“Sure, love,” Chloe said. “I’ll be your woman any day.” And then she’d laughed, but at the time, she remembered feeling faintly nervous with the idea, being Nadine’s woman, but also touched, and then frightened, because she’d felt so touched.

Nadine truly cared about her, she knew. And she cared for Nadine in return. Just thinking about it made her heart pound, but not entirely in a good way. She’d wanted to run, then, to bolt, like she always did.

But no, she’d changed. She wasn’t like that anymore, and Nadine was there, standing in her stupid-neat office of a company she’d lost and then regained through merit and grit alone, looking adorable and sweaty and almost too beautiful for Chloe to bear.

And so she’d stayed.

Plus, Nadine had fucked her on top of the desk afterwards, so all in all, it’d turned out to be a very, very good day.

 

—

 

This day, though? Not so much. It's wavering on downright shitty. Still, Chloe tries to keep her mood light and her spirits high, even as she waits for Nadine to finish whatever it is she’s doing in their hotel room before joining her in the lot. At last, Nadine emerges and gives a single inscrutable look to Ace that conveys everything— _fuck up, and you’re dead_ —and clicks her way across the pavement to Chloe. Fuck, but those heels, and that dress. Chloe has to look away, because she still wants to be a little mad with her partner, and that dress is not helping at all.

The car ride over is quiet. Chloe spends the time checking herself in the mirror and playing on her phone, snuck into her skirt’s waistband. The only reason she isn’t driving is because she physically cannot—she will not risk these pleats for anything, plus, no shoes—but Nadine is an excellent driver, and where Chloe would be laying on the horn or revving through yellows or squealing around slowpokes, she is calculated and patient as she is in everything, navigating seamlessly through the lazy summer traffic.

They arrive neither late nor early, but right on time. Chloe is inordinately pleased. Sexually frustrated, yes, but pleased.

The building, rented out for the occasion, is clean, modern, and sprawling enough for a crowd of about a hundred revelers. It’s a beach bungalow built just for these sort of occasions, and Chloe can see chairs set up further back, across the sand, and the ocean if she squints, a dull grey line not too far in the distance. Really, it’s so hot she wouldn’t mind a dip in some nice cold seawater right now. Then again, she’d need to ditch the _sari_ , so forget it.

“Swanky place,” Chloe quips, trying to get Nadine to smile, but the other woman simply rolls her eyes, and where normally, she’d get out quick to help Chloe open her own door like a true gentleman, she just stands there and watches Chloe struggle her way out of the car, her _pallu_ getting hung up in her dangling seatbelt. When Chloe growls in frustration, she comes over, looking exasperated.

“Hold still, would you?” she says, and fixes the _pallu_ before gently smoothing a bit of Chloe’s hair back. At that moment, someone walks by, heading for the building, and Nadine snatches her hand away from Chloe like it’s been burned. Chloe pretends not to notice. She also pretends that it doesn’t bother her.

Nadine clears her throat. “Ready?” she asks, quite unenthusiastically.

“Sure. Do I look alright?”

Again, Nadine gives her the barest glance before looking away. “Ja.”

“Aw. Come on, Ross,” Chloe teases, since this is probably her last chance before they’re surrounded by strangers and can’t publicly flirt. “What’s wrong? Are you jealous of my _sari_? Wish you could wear one? Ever feel like there’s a little Indian in you, maybe?”

“I—”

“Would you like to?”

Nadine rolls her eyes again. “That’s a horrible joke, Frazer.” She spins around, presenting Chloe with a perfect view of her impressively muscled back and shoulders, and stalks off, arse swaying, calves flexing. Mm.

At the entrance, Nathan and Elena Drake are greeting their guests. Nate is in a suit that he probably didn’t steal but definitely doesn’t own, jacket already missing, two top buttons of his wrinkled white shirt undone, while Elena is in an adorable and classy white summer dress, the material loose and floaty and divine. Her hair is done up with white flowers and she’s blushing and smiling and looks deliriously happy, like a newlywed rather than someone who’s been married for more than a couple years now.

Nate just looks drunk, flushed from all the commotion. Probably, he’s a little overwhelmed. Behind them, Chloe can hear the ruckus their guests are causing inside, milling about the building, laughing and talking. Just how many people did they invite again? And wait, where’s Nadine gone?

“Chloe,” Elena says, and Chloe jumps. She pastes on a big smile as Elena looks her up and down. “Wow. Just, wow. That _sari_ is incredible. You look great.”

Chloe gives her a low chuckle. “There aren’t any rules about out-dressing the bride when she’s already married, is there? Because I’m not changing.” They hug warmly, and Elena kisses her on the cheek. They are two very different people, Chloe has come to realize, but that doesn’t at all mean they can’t be friends.

“Hey, you made it,” says Nate, noticing her at last. He hugs Chloe gingerly, still wary of showing her affection when Elena is nearby, as if his wife will suddenly bring up their past involvements and berate him for them. Silly Nate. “Thanks for coming. Where’s— _gah!_ ”

“Nadine,” greets Elena, and Chloe looks up to find Nadine at her shoulder, expression blank, “glad you could make it. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person, after everything Chloe's said about you.”

“Likewise,” Nadine says politely, and before she can stick out a hand to shake, Elena hugs her. It’s quick, perfunctory, but Nadine still stiffens before relaxing slightly, and even manages a quick pat on the back for the blushing bride. Nate, she does not deign to even look at.

“So,” Nate starts awkwardly. “How’s treasure hunting? With the two of you. Partnering up. Even though one of you did things. To me. Things like… You know. Throw me out a window.”

“Nate,” says Elena.

“What? I’m just saying, my ex-partner,” he waves at Chloe, “is now willingly working with a woman who’s tried to kill me more than once. Sam, too. It’s just funny, is all. Isn’t it funny?”

“Let it go, honey.”

“Yeah, Nate,” Chloe joins in. "Let it go, mate."

“She beat me up like, three times,” he hisses back, though everyone can still hear him.

“Shouldn’t you be trying to avoid talking about that?” Chloe wonders aloud. “Getting beat up by a woman three times?”

“I lived to talk about it,” Nate counters. “If that’s not manly, I don’t know what is.”

“Keep talking,” growls Nadine, and now she’s looking at Nate, and with a hard glint in her eyes. “This wedding might just turn into a funeral.”

“Let’s all be friends,” Chloe says, though she’s not _too_ worried about Nadine snapping and attacking either of the Drake brothers tonight. Still, best not to tempt fate. “Play nice, please?” she says to Nadine, who looks away.

“Just keep your distance,” Nate says, only partly joking. “I’d rather not have an incident. Or have to pay a clean-up fee for broken glass.”

“Still early, Drake,” Nadine says casually. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later.” She walks off, hips-a-swaying, heels a-clicking, as Nate watches with his mouth hanging open. He looks like he can’t decide whether to be frightened of Nadine or attracted to her in that dress. Chloe knows which one she’ll be going with.

"Yeah, you walk away," Nate mutters, once she's out of earshot, then blinks, and notices a window just beside him, and honest to God goes white as a sheet.

“You alright, honey?” Elena asks soothingly, rubbing Nate on the back. Chloe struggles desperately not to laugh. Now is not the time.

“Just having some flashbacks,” Nate says, and clears his throat roughly. “Phew, is it hot in here? My heart’s beatin’ kinda fast. Jesus. This was a great idea.” He swallows. “You’ll keep her away from me, right Chloe?”

“You got it.”

“Sam, too.”

“No problem. I won’t hold you guys up any longer.” A line has been forming behind Chloe, so she hugs Elena and Nate again quickly and then ducks inside the bungalow.

Inside, it’s hot and loud and a little crowded. Chloe does not recognize anyone. She knows by proxy that about half the crowd is Nate’s crew from his booming salvage business, an attempt at going legit that seems to be working, while the other half is made up of Elena’s coworkers and crew from her famous show. Chloe watches it when she gets the chance. If there’s ever an animal on camera, Nadine will usually watch it too.

Speaking of Nadine, she’s nowhere to be seen. Chloe needs a drink, so she navigates through the crowd—really, since when has Nate had so many goddamn friends?—and makes her way over to the bar.

Nadine is there, sipping a watered down scotch. Of course. Chloe waits until she puts her glass down, swipes it, and tosses back the rest, just to bug her. Nadine just rolls her eyes, unruffled as ever, like Chloe hadn’t bent her over the bed last night and made her squeal. Cheeky girl. Chloe is sorely tempted to force a rise out of her, but no, they’re supposed to be ignoring each other, aren’t they? How boring.

“Well, well, well,” says a gravelly voice, and then Victor Sullivan is there, looking groomed and charming and rougeish like always.

“Sully,” Chloe says warmly, and hugs him. Now she doesn’t feel so out of place. Sully chuckles, hugs her back, and then exchanges a polite handshake with Nadine, who might squeeze a little harder than necessary, judging by his wince.

“Victor.”

“Nadine. Lovely to see you two. You ladies look beautiful,” he says, and Chloe gives Nadine a look, as if to say, _see how easy that was?_ Nadine ignores her, eyes darting over the crowd, ever on alert.

Suddenly, a large, imposing figure appears behind Sully. Nadine’s Shoreline man, Biggie. He glances between them, as if checking to make sure Chloe is safe, before disappearing in the crowd once more. For someone so big, the man can certainly move. Chloe is impressed. Sully doesn’t even notice.

They chat about their last few jobs—a wash-out for Sully, but a solid lead for Chloe and Nadine—until Nate appears, Elena at his elbow.

“We’ll be starting soon,” says Nate, checking his watch. “Pretty sure everyone who’s coming is here, so—”

A sharp wail splits the crowd. Samuel Drake appears, hair mussed, suit and shirt askew, with a sobbing little bundle in his arms.

“Sorry, sorry,” says Sam, looking completely frazzled. “She won’t stop cryin’. I dunno what to do.”

And, oh God, there it is—the baby.

Now, Chloe doesn’t _hate_ babies, per se— _nobody_ can. But people can certainly dislike them, and Chloe is one of those people. She can’t think of anything she’d least like to do than hold a screaming infant longer than five minutes. Give her a smelly old tomb to raid any day. Give her disgruntled mercenaries. Give her a big, bloody cursed treasure.

Just not a baby.

Of course, Nate hadn’t listened, or cared, so now she and Sam share god-parent custody over the little screamer, which is just… wonderful.

“Aw, Cassie,” Elena coos, scooping up her beet-red-faced child. Almost at once, the baby calms, sniveling for a moment or two longer before hiccupping loudly. “I just fed you, and… nope, you don’t need changing. What’s the matter? Did Uncle Sam scare you? Huh? Yeah, he did, didn’t he? It’s okay. Shhhh.” She bounces the baby up and down until her tears are gone. Sam looks on, sheepish, flinching when Nate gives him a smack on the back of the head.

“What the hell?” he growls, and Nate replies, “Were you tossing her around again?”

“She likes that!” Sam says. “Last time she couldn’t stop laughin’!”

“She was sleeping five minutes ago,” says Nate. “You can’t just grab her and start throwing her whenever you feel like!”

“I didn’t! She was up in the carrier, I swear! She held her arms out at me and everything. Sorry I was just tryin’ to be a good uncle!”

Elena turns Cassie around so she’s facing outward and bounces her, giving them both an admonishing look. “Alright, we have to get going, everything else will be late if we don’t start now. Sam, go start asking people to find their seats, please? Okay. Nate, where’s your tie? I told you to— Nevermind. Cassie, are you gonna be good for mommy? Huh? Are you gonna be good? Alright, I think she’s settled.” Chloe turns, ready to head through the far doors onto the beach to find her own seat, when Elena says, “We’ll, um, need someone to hold her during the ceremony, if that’s okay.”

Hold her—? Oh, God. They’re going to ask _her_ to do it, Chloe realizes, and feels a cold blast of panic. She—

“I’ll hold her,” Nadine says quietly, and even Sully goggles.

“If—if you don’t want to, I—” he starts.

“Erk—” says Nate.

"Um," says Chloe.

“Thanks,” Elena says brightly to Nadine, unfazed.

As they watch, Chloe, Sam and Sully mute with anticipation, Nate with barely contained fear, Nadine scoops little Cassie up under her fat armpits and cradles her close, propping her wobbly head on the hard flex of her bicep. Chloe does not feel jealous at all by how gently she holds her, or the soft look that grows on her face, because that would be absolutely ridiculous.

Cassie looks shakily up at Nadine with a ponderous expression, then gurgles and gives her a big, gummy, drooling smile. Chloe cringes. Nadine _melts_.

“Hey there, girlie,” she coos softly. “Hi. Hi! Look at you!” Her voice drops, and then she’s saying something to her in Afrikaans in a soft, sing-songy tone, which, really? Chloe can’t even get Nadine to teach her anything more than a few swear words. Slowly, and with obvious care, Nadine walks toward the open glass doors leading to the beach, where the folded plastic seats have been set up.

“Well. That wasn’t weird at all,” says Nate. Before he can add any more smart comments, Elena seizes him by the arm and rushes him off. “Later!” he calls out.

Chloe and Sully look at each other, neither of them quite sure what to think.

"Er,” says Sully, scratching at the back of his neck. “Think I’ll find myself a chair. Let’s talk afterwards, alright?”

“Sure,” Chloe replies faintly, and heads to find one herself.

Nadine has picked a spot a bit on the outskirts, out of the way of the bulk of people, where a fussy baby will not take too much attention from the goings on. Cassie is wide-awake now, sitting alertly upright in Nadine’s lap, held in place by one muscular forearm around her little waist, looking around curiously at all the commotion. Every time she seems to grow slightly bored, or on the verge of a wail, Nadine tickles her belly, or boops her on the nose, and Cassie squeals and wriggles happily.

It is _not_ cute. Neither of them. At all.

“This seat free?” Chloe asks, motioning to the one just beside Nadine. She’s ready for a rebuttal, since Nadine had seemed intent on them staying as far away from each other as possible to avoid suspicion, but Nadine just nods briskly, too preoccupied with playing with Cassie to give Chloe a real answer.

Chloe sits, digging her bare toes in the warm sand, sweating under the beaming sunlight, and watches her partner—who can benchpress more than two-hundred pounds on a bad day, and snap necks easy as dry reeds—play with her god-child as if she’d been born to do so, and feels a strange sort of affection awakening inside of her.

Also, envy, but feeling jealous of a babbling baby is just… stupid. What has Cassie got that Chloe doesn’t? Chloe can gurgle, and smack her palms against Nadine’s cheeks, and drool on her shirt. Whatever.

“Can I have a picture?” Chloe asks after a moment, again sure Nadine will say no, but Nadine smiles and hefts Cassie up so they are cheek to cheek. Chloe fishes out her phone, warm from her own body-heat, and aims it at them. Nadine’s smile, without even being asked, is warm and sweet and everything Chloe cherishes about her. The picture is so beautiful it makes her ache in a way that is anything but sexual.

She tries very hard not to think about it, after.

The ceremony is touching, and sweet, and filled with love. Elena and Nate recite some newly written vows to one another, then kiss while everyone applauds. Then they each take a turn to thank their friends for coming, encouraging them to have a good time and enjoy the rest of their evening together. The sky behind them has only just begun to darken, the blazing sun sinking toward the far horizon, turning the sea a deep red color.

Chloe blinks. Just like that, Elena Fisher and Nathan Drake are married, _again_.

Half the crowd follows Nate and Elena back inside the bungalow to celebrate, while everyone else hangs back to enjoy the warm air and salty sea breeze. Chloe sits with Nadine and watches the sun fall lower and lower as her mind wanders into dangerous territory.

Out of nowhere, Nadine says very firmly, “You look beautiful.”

Chloe jerks her head around and stares, surprised. “…Oh?” she gets out, brain scrambling to come up with some stupid, witty quip to diffuse the sudden tension. All morning, Nadine has skittered away from her, like some shy animal. Now, however, she is looking right at her. Her eyes are intense and focused and a dark, golden brown.

“No,” Nadine says, shaking her head, “you _are_ beautiful.”

Chloe swallows, and becomes very aware that her hair is starting to come out of her braid and is sticking to her cheeks and neck in sweaty tendrils, and that her face is probably a bit flushed from the sun and her _sari_ is just getting its first few inevitable wrinkles. She is also distinctly aware she is not wearing any underthings at all.

“Thanks?”

Nadine looks at her up and down, a slow crawl from lips to hips, and starts, “Listen, Chloe—”

At precisely that moment, Cassie throws up, projectile-vomiting white, sour-smelling milk in a short stream. Most of it hits Nadine’s bare arm, but a splash hits Chloe’s pristine _pallu_ , seeping in instantly.

Chloe freezes, horrified beyond belief. “Oh dear _God_.”

“Whoops,” says Nadine. She stands, holding Cassie carefully to her front. “Come on. There’s got to be a bathroom back inside, somewhere.”

Holding her _pallu_ between clenched fingers like a dead animal, Chloe follows, feeling ill. Elena spots them, understands instantly what happened, and hides a laugh behind her hand. “Oh, geez, guys, sorry! Here, the bathroom’s over there… Nate, would you make yourself useful and grab your daughter please?”

Nate edges forward to collect Cassie from Nadine, looking almost like a frightened man forced to pluck his child from the open mouth of a sharp-toothed crocodile. Chloe makes a b-line to the bathroom, finds it empty, and lets out a deep breath, just so she won’t scream.

Her _pallu_ gets dunked in the sink, swirled and squeezed and soaped. She’s still trying to get the smell of upchucked breastmilk out of the silk when someone knocks gently on the door. She snaps “What?” a little sharper than she intends, but doesn’t feel sorry for it.

“Just me,” comes Nadine’s voice, and Chloe lets her in before moving back to the sink and holding the darkened bit of silk under the water again. Behind her, she can hear Nadine rustling with some paper towels from the dispenser, and lets her wet them to wipe off her arm, brown skin splattered with off-white baby-puke.

“You’ll live, Frazer,” Nadine says, her voice filled with humor. Chloe’s glad someone can find this situation funny. Apparently, her partner won’t laugh at her jokes, but finds her being in peril hilarious. Good to know.

“I’m sure you can see yourself out,” Chloe snarks back, since Nadine’s already cleaned up. “Don’t want people to, I don’t know… Think we’re _together_. Scandalous, right?” Keeping the bitterness from her voice is practically impossible.

Nadine is quiet. Chloe focuses on her _pallu_ , muttering to herself in the silence.

Callused fingers curl over her bare ribs, and Chloe gasps aloud, going rigid. Her nipples are hard almost instantly, straining against the restrictive material of her _choli_. A bead of sweat winds slowly across her collarbone and trickles down into her cleavage.

“Nadine?”

“Mm.” Nadine steps closer, until her entire front is pressed to Chloe’s back. Her body is hard and strong and Chloe? Chloe is weak.

"I smell like sour milk,” she protests faintly.

Nose buried in Chloe’s neck, Nadine catches the blunt of her teeth against Chloe’s pebbled nape, inhales deeply, and says, “You smell like you want me to fuck you.”

Oh, God. She’s going to die, right here. In a bathroom. In a bungalow. At Nate and Elena’s second goddamn wedding.

Short nails tickle past her bellybutton as Nadine tries to work a hand down the front of Chloe’s dress. Alarm flares, and she hisses and spins around, fingers clenched around Nadine’s wrist.

“These. Pleats. Took me _half an hour_ to get perfect!”

“Sorry?”

But now Chloe is raring to go, and maybe she can deal with ruining the pleats, because _she_ needs to get ruined, she really, really does, and—

Nadine kisses her, lightly, and Chloe whimpers, chasing her mouth as she retreats, wanting more, wanting it hard and biting, but Nadine breathes, “Wait, just let me…”

And then Nadine Ross is on her knees in a tiny little bathroom in a building on a beach, looking hungry and warm and Chloe can barely breathe.

“Nadine, are you _drunk?_ ” Chloe asks, stunned.

Now, it is not a known fact by many—Chloe isn’t sure of the actual number—and Nadine would probably kill her if it ever got out, but the truth is that Nadine Ross is a complete and utter bottom. Quite literally, she will do anything Chloe tells her to. Go down on her in the shower until her legs won’t hold her up anymore? Why, of course. Spank her arse and pull her hair a little when Chloe’s in the mood for a good roughing up? Sure. Wear a strap-on all day to work, then come home and let Chloe ride her raw? Anytime!

Then, when it’s Chloe’s turn to have some fun and make her partner squeal, one look, one touch, and Nadine’s already whining and begging for more. Chloe loves it. It’s practically her favorite thing.

This… This is different. Nadine may be the one on her knees at the moment, but there is absolutely no mistaking who is in charge right now.

“Maybe we should—” Chloe starts, and cuts off with a sharp intake of breath as one of Nadine’s hands disappears up her _sari_.

“Shhhhh,” Nadine says, and squeezes hard on the meat of Chloe’s thigh. Christ. “Turn around.”

“Turn—?”

“You don’t have pleats in the back, do you?”

She doesn’t. She doesn’t, but that’s beside the point. They are in a bathroom, for Christ’s sake, with a very happily now-twicely-married couple schmoozing around outside with about a hundred coworkers and friends and did they even lock the door, Jesus, she can’t remember, did they?

She turns around.

Gently, and with great care, Nadine rucks the back of Chloe’s skirts up, taking her slip along with it. The folds of the _sari_ are loose enough that the pleats in the front only get pulled a little, and as Nadine’s warm palms smooth lazily up along the bare backs of Chloe’s thighs, she can’t find herself to care much if her outfit does get wrecked in the next two minutes or less, because that’s obviously just about how long it’s going to take before the top of her head explodes.

Nadine makes an appreciative murmur when she discovers Chloe’s distinct lack of underwear. She tucks the bottom of the _sari_ into Chloe’s waistband so both her hands are free and then spreads her apart, fingers fanning out and digging into her arse, thumbs tracing where her inner thighs meet her pelvis, skin there gone warm and sweaty with anticipation. Chloe can feel herself dripping.

“Beautiful,” Nadine whispers. The word breathes out in a puff of moist air, soaks into her flesh and tingles deep inside Chloe’s heaving belly.

Seconds from making a smart comment— _what, couldn’t say it earlier, but now you can’t stop?_ —Chloe cries out and jolts hard against the porcelain sink, the jut of her hip bones smarting from the impact, when Nadine kisses her hotly at her crux, open-mouthed, then licks a firm stripe across her wetness. Chloe moans, then swallows down the tail end of it, desperate not to get caught, and seizes the sides of the sink, needing something to hang on to. Behind her, Nadine growls, the vibrations traveling all the way up Chloe’s arched spine to the nape of her neck and then back down, where it settles into a quick, needy throb between her legs.

Well. This _sari_ is about to get ruined.

She clings to the sink for dear life, choking down sharp cries and guttural moans as Nadine feasts like a person starved. She sinks her thumbs into Chloe and opens her to the air, licks and sucks greedily, strong hands holding Chloe’s bucking arse in place. Christ, this woman is so strong. Chloe feels a heady flush just thinking about it. Control is Chloe's thing, so when Nadine forces her to hold still when they have sex, to give in, it practically drives her insane. She spreads her legs as far as she can, bent near double, and buries her face in her elbow so she won’t scream.

Nadine is sucking hard and steady on her throbbing clit when Chloe’s brain misfires and she squeaks out, “You think it’s, uh, ah, offensive to, _ah_ , have sex in a _sari_?”

Her partner pulls away long enough to grunt, “Shouldn’t you know what, miss half-Indian?”

Chloe collects herself enough to reach back blindly and thwack Nadine gently on the head. “Don’t you sass m— _hee! Ah!_ ”

Without comment, Nadine goes back to work, cutting off Chloe’s protests with two steady, delightfully callused fingers, sinking in to the last knuckle with absurd ease. Nadine lets them sit there, inside, licking around her own hand, then turns it palm down, and pulls toward the floor, putting intense pressure on Chloe’s front wall, and very slowly begins to thrust, sending pangs of fire racing through Chloe’s body. God, she can feel everything—every stroke, every rub, every flick. The pressure is too much. Chloe is going to explode.

Goddammit, if she squirts in this _sari_ , she is going to _kill_ Nadine.

And then Nadine withdraws her hand, and adds another finger.

“Ah! _Ah!_ ” Chloe’s up on her tiptoes now, her over-sensitized hips trying to escape the rutting fingers, but her arse is thrusting back wildly for more, both thighs trembling like mad. Nadine’s clever tongue works hard at her, her fingers three torturous hooks, pulling down at the front of her. Chloe glances up, and watches herself in the mirror getting fucked. Her eyes are half-lidded, tendrils of black hair clinging to her brow and temples. Her mouth hangs open, lips slack and swollen. Her neck is bright red. Her face and arms gleam with sweat. She wonders what Nadine looks like, back there, face buried in her arse, growling hungrily, lost in her pleasure, and groans, and _watches_ herself grow wetter, orgasm approaching, eyes dilating and going glassy.

Just before she peaks, Nadine says something she can’t hear, and then bites her, hard, right on the soft flesh of her arsecheek. Chloe gasps and her entire body clenches on reflex, surprised, aroused, thrilled, the stinging pain of sharp teeth cutting through the pleasure like a white bolt, every part of her throbbing and hot and wet and swollen—

She comes so hard she slumps and wakes up a few seconds later with her face in the sink, the end of her braid gone cold and damp from the drain. She can feel Nadine licking her with long, slow drags of her tongue, cleaning up her mess, and trembles weakly at the feel of her hands, still so utterly strong and firm, squeezing at her hamstrings, which will no doubt be sore tomorrow. The bitemark on her arse is on fire, aching fiercely in time with her pounding heart.

Nadine frees the back of her _sari_ , smooths it into place, and then stands. Chloe catches sight of her face in the mirror. Her eyes are bright and her mouth, cheeks and chin are wet. She looks about to burst.

“I—” says Chloe.

Someone knocks on the door.

They freeze. Chloe squeezes her eyes shut and mentally rattles through every single swear word she knows, and then invents a few new ones to go along with them.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Nadine grits out. She seems almost feral with her need. Chloe swallows thickly. The room smells like them. Like heat, and fucking, and want.

She darts her eyes down, to the hem of Nadine’s dress. “I can be quick,” she offers, hands twitching. She wants to fuck Nadine so badly it hurts. To finger her until she’s a quivering wreck. To feel that body go hard and then soft against her in release.

Nadine goes rigid, every muscle gone tight and straining. She takes a long, deep breath, but does not relax at all. “It’s fine,” she says, and sounds anything but. “We should get out of here.”

It’s the worst decision they’ve ever made, but they wash up fast, and then Chloe follows her out the door, wobbly as a foal and uncomfortably rumpled and flushed.

Biggie is there, fist outstretched for another knock. “Sorry,” he says quickly. “I sent a few people away, saying it was occupied. Didn’t think it’d work for much longer.” His face is a mask of professionalism. He definitely heard Chloe getting her arse bitten in there. Clearly, this night could not be going better.

“Thanks,” she says, while Nadine manages a strangled sounding, “Dismissed.”

They separate to opposite sides of the room, not trusting themselves near each other. Chloe waits until she’s somewhat confident she won’t grab Nadine’s face and shove it back between her legs before tottering on weak knees to the bar, where she orders a shot of vodka—a drink she despises—and downs it in one draw, then orders another, and does it again.

Afterwards, she forces herself to mingle, to pretend everything is fine, that she didn’t just get fucked silly in the washroom. She finds Sully, and laughs with him for a while. Caterers circle the room, and Chloe nabs finger food to try and soak up some of the alcohol sitting like a rock in her stomach. She catches glimpses of Nadine, stalking from one dark corner to another, but gets ignored anytime their eyes meet. Her partner has gone cold and aloof again and Chloe hates it more than anything.

Oblivious to their tension, Elena and Nate, now baby-free—they’ve called a sitter, probably—flit from group to group, laughing, telling stories, and looking at each other like they’re the only ones in the entire world. It’s cute, kind of. Chloe really can’t think straight at the moment. She goes back to the bar when her legs get too shaky. She sits heavily without thinking, and squeaks when the mark on her arse blazes with newfound pain. The man next to her stares. Chloe grits her teeth into a semblance of a smile. She’ll get Nadine back for that one.

Elena joins her a few minutes later, sipping a pink cocktail. She is flushed and sweaty from all the running around, but she is beautiful, and happy. Nate is a lucky man, Chloe acknowledges. She’s sure he knows it, too.

“So, you and Nadine, huh?” Elena says, quirking an eyebrow. “How’s that been going?”

“Um,” Chloe starts, and then realizes Elena is talking about treasure-hunting, not sex. “Good. Great! I know she’s got some…history with Nate and Sam, but she’s harmless, really.”

They catch sight of Nadine at that moment, standing with Biggie, arms crossed over her chest. The low lights cut sharply into her muscles, making her appear all the more imposing. Chloe has to look away, biting her lip hard. Elena makes a noise like she’s impressed and takes another sip of her drink.

“You guys have been business partners for, what? More than a year now?”

“Mm-hmm,” says Chloe, not really listening. She’s switched to champagne, the bubbly alcohol tingling pleasantly over her tongue and down her throat. Nadine has turned around, and Chloe can see practically every muscle across her tense back, highlighted by the light blue of her dress. The way the light falls across her arse is awe-inducing.

“And how long have you been sleeping with her?”

Chloe inhales her next gulp and hacks out a wet cough in surprise. Champagne going up your nose is _not_ a pleasant sensation.

“What, ah, what gave you that idea?” she manages as soon as she can breathe again.

Elena just smiles. “Oh, you know. Just the way you’ve been since you got here. How you interact. How the both of you are trying so hard not to look at each other right now, which really isn’t working.”

“Shit,” Chloe breathes, and drinks. She glances over, finds Nadine looking back, and they both skitter their eyes away. “That obvious?”

“Not really,” Elena says. “I could tell something was off, earlier, but now it’s way worse. Like something happened after the ceremony, something big. But not crazy. I mean, it’s not like you guys…” She trails off, her eyes going comically wide. “Oh god,” she says, voice strangled. “You did, didn’t you? In the bathroom? Oh my god. Chloe, we’re renting this place.”

“We cleaned up,” Chloe says feebly, remembering the soft licks Nadine had given her afterwards, the stroke of her tongue across her swollen, tender folds, and resists a shiver.

Elena is bright red. She looks partly scandalized, partly intrigued. “Um. Can I ask?”

“About?”

“How is it? The sex.”

Chloe guffaws, cackling loudly. She can’t help it. Heads turn, and Elena blushes and downs her drink, signaling for another. “Sorry,” says Chloe, noticing that Nadine is watching them now with hard, narrowed eyes. “To answer your question… I mean, have you seen her?”

“I have,” Elena giggles, sounding slightly drunk. “She’s…impressive.”

“Impressive doesn’t even begin to describe her.”

“Wow.” Elena pauses. “Nate would die if he knew.”

“He would, wouldn’t he?” grins Chloe.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him.” Elena looks thoughtful, then grins as well. “I have to ask now. Is she the best you’ve had?”

Chloe stops, and thinks. Jesus. Is she? Chloe’s had a lot of lovers over the years. She’s not ashamed of it. She likes sex. She’s good at it. So is Nadine. Ridiculously good. She tries to remember if someone else ever made her scream so loud, claw so hard, come so good. She honestly can’t place one.

“Damn, Fisher,” she mutters, “I think she is.”

They collapse into laughter, snorting quietly into their drinks.

“She’s not… mad at you, is she?” Elena asks, noticing the way Nadine seems to be sullenly ignoring Chloe.

“No, she… It’s complicated.”

“Okay,” says Elena. “Just be careful.”

“Oh, Nadine would never—”

“No, I mean… With your heart. And hers.”

Chloe splutters. “I know how to keep my business and pleasure apart, darling,” she says, trying to play it off.

Elena looks over at Nate, play-wrestling with his brother amidst of group of cheering men, and smiles lovingly. “We both know that’s a lie.”

Thankfully, she drops it after that. They sip and chat and laugh, and Chloe does not think any further of her heart, or Nadine’s, or anything else along those lines. Music wafts from speakers along the walls, and Nate appears, winking at Chloe as he steals Elena away for a romantic waltz. Afterwards, couples break from the crowd to join in with the dancing. Chloe watches for a while, then wanders to the still-open doors to the beach, where the sky has gone dark purple, the sea black, a single white strip of water gleaming under the rising moon.

"They make a good looking couple, don’t they?” says Sully, appearing at her elbow, an unlit cigar held between his fingers.

“They certainly do,” Chloe agrees. Sully finds a match and lights his cigar, inhaling deeply. The smoke makes Chloe’s eyes water, but the smell is familiar and everything that is Sully himself.

“Now, you and Nadine…” he goes on.

“Christ, is everyone going to corner me about this tonight?” Chloe growls, rubbing a hand over her brow. She dislodges a _bindi_ accidentally and flicks it off her finger with a noise of frustration.

“Sorry. If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine. Just saying. She’s a fierce woman, that one. Loyal to a fault. She wants something, she’ll get it, and once she has it, she’ll do everything she can to keep it safe.”

Chloe groans and drops her head into her hands. " _Sully_."

“Okay, okay, I’m done,” Sully chuckles. “Tell you what. Lemme finish my cigar, and I’ll give you dance.”

“Fine with me,” says Chloe, “so long as you keep your mouth shut between now and then.”

True to his word, Sully smokes in silence, then escorts Chloe back inside. Chloe leaves her empty glass on a table and they ease onto the dance floor. Sully, she’s surprised to discover, is a rather good dance partner. He also doesn’t have straying hands, something Chloe can’t claim for all the other guests, when, afterwards, she humors a few of Nate’s salvage workers with a dance or two, just to get a laugh. One of them can’t be more than twenty years old. He goes red when Chloe smiles at him. The attention is… nice.

The evening drags on. Chloe dances and makes new friends and drinks her champagne. Nadine continues to avoid her. Chloe can’t stand it. She dances with men and women alike, young, old, trying to get some sort of a rise out of her partner. Nothing works.

She was annoyed, before. She wore the _sari_ because she wanted to look good—for herself, but for Nadine too. All she’d wanted was for Nadine to notice her, to give her that look, and call her beautiful as easily as Chloe herself could do it. And she had, yes, but now she isn’t even talking to her, just staring with those cool, blank eyes, and God, Nadine looks so good in that dress with her hair down, all soft and hard at the same time, and Chloe remembers the way she touched her in the bathroom, and… and…

No, she isn’t annoyed anymore, or sad.

She’s furious.

Filled with indignation and not a little alcohol, she stomps toward her partner. Biggie tries to get in the way and Chloe flails at him with a snarl. The big man practically yelps, as if afraid she’ll accidentally hurt herself, and that irks her more, because she’s not some helpless little thing that needs to be treated so carefully, she’s Chloe goddamn Frazer, and she’s had enough with this stupid game.

Nadine’s expression flashes with alarm, and she retreats down a dark side hallway, and Chloe follows, only to find herself grabbed and suddenly kissed, as if Nadine hasn’t been acting cruelly to her all night, pretending they’re strangers.

It’s difficult, but she tears herself away. Really, she wants nothing more than to shove Nadine up against the wall and make her scream and fall apart.

“Stop. Stop!” Nadine stops. “You,” Chloe snaps, thrusting a hard finger into Nadine’s chest, who has the gall to seem surprised. “What is with you, tonight? First you say you don’t want anyone to know about us. Then you fuck me brainless in the bathroom. And suddenly you can’t be seen with me. And now you’re pawing at me like nothing’s wrong. Make up your goddamn mind. For someone who’s so embarrassed about our relationship, you sure seem like you want someone to catch us!”

“That’s not—”

Chloe slaps Nadine’s hands off her _sari_. “No! That’s it! I’m too drunk for this, Ross. I—it hurts.”

Now Nadine looks a little sick. “Chloe, no. I—I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well, you did.”

“You said you were fine with it, with lying.”

“Maybe I lied about that too! Why wouldn’t I want everyone to know we’re together? I mean, look at you! And look at me! We're an amazing team, you and I. We’re so good, and I don’t know, maybe it could be even better if we let it, right? I don’t care what people think. I know you hate risks, but this isn’t a risk, Nadine, it’s just us, and I bloody love you, alright? But I guess that doesn’t matter, ‘cause only someone like Nadine Ross would want to hide _that_. I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night. And thank you, for telling me I look beautiful before. Okay, I’m done.”

Before another drunken, illegible word can fall out of her mouth, she storms off.

Exactly five minutes later, she realizes exactly what she just said— _I bloody love you, alright?—_ and has a mini-heart attack that is only slightly remedied by another drink.

Now she needs to hide. She does so in the form of Sam Drake, who looks bored and predictably disheveled, leaning against the bar as he sips from a sweating bottle of beer.

“Shut up and dance with me,” Chloe says in greeting, and tears his beer away before dragging him to the very center of the dance floor, where she desperately hopes Nadine will not dare tread.

“Geez. Okay. Nice to see you, too,” Sam mutters. At least he gets into position, so Chloe doesn’t have to stomp his foot. They sway together at a respectable distance, Chloe darting her eyes about but trying not to appear completely panicked.

“Uh, you okay?” Sam asks, sensing her anxiety.

“Fine. Shut up.”

“Right. Shutting up.” He pauses. "You look nice in that, y'know?"

"What did I just—?"

"Shutting up!"

They dance for several minutes before Chloe finally relaxes. She’s safe here, in this crowd, surrounded by the Drakes, Elena and Sully and all their friends.

“So,” she says, making a play for casual. “Having a good time?”

“I was," Sam replies warily. "Now I’m gettin’ the feeling something bad’s going on. You in trouble or something?”

“’Course not.”

Sam scoffs. “What’d you do now?”

“Nothing!”

“Ok.” Sam sways with her, then asks suddenly, “Am _I_ in trouble?”

Chloe looks around, and sees Biggie nearby. Shit. “Um. Maybe?”

“What? I haven’t done—oh, shit,” says Sam, and then someone touches Chloe’s shoulder.

It’s Nadine.

Chloe goes still. Her heart stutters in her chest. Oh Jesus.

Nadine gives Sam a scowl. “Hands off, Drake,” she says. Sam goes white.

“Uh, sorry?” he gulps. Chloe notices his palm has been cupping her lower back for the past few minutes, but who can blame him, really? It’s definitely the _sari_. She just looks too good for people to help themselves.

“Go away, Ross,” Chloe says without heat, feeling tired. Defeated, in a way. People are turning to stare. She can see Nate off to one side, looking worried. Clearly, he doesn’t want to get anywhere near Nadine if there’s going to be a fight. In fact, he’s edging Elena in front of him, peeking from behind her white-clad shoulder. “Can’t you see Sam and I are dancing?”

"Right. We're dancing,” parrots Sam, looking only somewhat terrified.

“Not with my girlfriend, you’re not,” Nadine snaps, quite loudly. Probably half the room hears. The other half falls silent, sensing the tension, and suddenly everyone is looking at them. Distantly, Chloe hears Sully start to hack on a partially-inhaled cigar, followed by a frantically high-pitched, “ _WHAT_ ” from Nate, smothered by a sharp “ _shush!_ ” from Elena.

Sam's head swings from Nadine to Chloe. "Christ, I freakin' _knew it_ ," he gasps.

Biggie appears, looming over the three of them. Has he somehow gotten taller in the past hour? Either way, he’s got a head and some shoulders over Sam, who cowers back, looking more confused than ever.

“Let’s get a drink,” Biggie suggests, only it doesn’t sound like much of a suggestion at all. His hand looks comically huge on Sam’s shoulder.

“Whatever you say, buddy,” Sam replies. “Just don’t eat me.”

Biggie chuckles at that, and Chloe can see the makings of a wonderful friendship. Biggie steers Sam back toward the bar, and Nadine slips into the vacated spot in Chloe’s arms, and then kisses her on the mouth, not long enough to be crude or overdone, but enough to make it well-known that they are, in fact, very much together.

The music cues and picks back up where it left off as a new song starts. Couples look unsurely about, then begin dancing once again. Among them, Elena and Nate sway, though the twice-made groom looks a bit like someone just clobbered him over the head with a brick, and Elena’s smile is as big as it was earlier today, when she and Nate were reciting their newly-written vows to one another. She and Chloe catch each other’s eyes. Chloe shrugs. Elena winks.

“So,” Nadine says, once everyone’s turned away and is minding their own business again. "You love me, ja?” With gentle hands, she guides Chloe into a very-close-quarters slow dance, rigid muscles pressed snug against Chloe’s torso, rippling with every subtle movement.

“Oh, God.” The back of Chloe’s neck burns. “Don’t look into that, please. It sort of… slipped out.”

"So, you _don’t_ love me?”

“What, no, of course I do, you—” Caught, Chloe grits her teeth and glares. “You’re a _dickhead_.”

“Hmm,” says Nadine, looking smug. She’s lucky Chloe isn’t a sore loser. “I am a dickhead. But I guess I’m a dickhead who loves you, too.”

Chloe’s heart flutters. It’s a sensation that is entirely unfamiliar to her. She sort of likes it.

“Well,” she says lightly. “Make a girl blush, why don’t you, Ross?”

“I’m sorry,” Nadine says in a soft voice. “For this morning, and earlier. The reason I didn’t want to talk to you is I was afraid of what’d come out if I opened my mouth. You look… You… Chloe, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but it doesn’t matter what you’re wearing—a _sari_ , or your normal clothes, or nothing at all. Because I’m always going to think that—that you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, yeah? Because I love you.”

Chloe’s breath catches in her throat, and she buries her face under Nadine’s chin. “Keep talking, china. I’m starting to like this ‘love’ thing.”

Nadine chuckles, and holds her close.

Chloe soaks in the feeling for as long as possible, then perks up. “Fancy a swim?”

They slip out of the bungalow while everyone is distracted with their dancing and laughing, and race each other to the ocean. It’s dark out now but warm still, and the cool sand feels glorious under Chloe’s sore feet. Nadine kicks her heels off and carries them in her hand, dropping them when they reach the water. She walks in up to calves before stopping to look back at Chloe.

“You coming or not, Frazer?”

“Thought I already did, love.”

“Funny.”

Chloe looks down at herself. Really, she hasn't thought this plan through. “I don’t want to ruin my _sari_.”

“Lose it, then,” Nadine suggests, and then takes her own advice, pulling her light blue dress up over her head. She shakes her hair out and tosses the balled up scrap of fabric onto the sand before grinning at Chloe, then turns and dashes out into the surf. Chloe catches a glimpse of damp muscles, lacy underthings and shiny brown skin before she disappears under a crowning wave.

After all the hours of work this morning, Chloe finds shedding a _sari_ takes only about a fraction as long. She makes a pile of the silk and dips a foot into the water. It’s shockingly cold, but she doesn’t retreat. Swimming out toward the still-rising moon, Nadine smiles at her from the surf, soaked and exhilarated and beautiful.

Smiling back, Chloe takes a breath, and then runs to join her.

**Author's Note:**

> my mental process during the writing of this fic:
> 
> >I want to write chloe in a sari
> 
> >I also want to write about big burly dudes being scared of nadine and following chloe around in terror
> 
> >why_not_both?.png
> 
> >well now nadine has to wear a dress again too oOPS
> 
> >nate being scared of nadine is totally my jam
> 
> >lets put a BABY in it??
> 
> >okay they'll almost screw in the bathroom but get interrupted before
> 
> >SHIT what just happened
> 
> >guess we're going on a feels trip now
> 
> >damn the fic's too big I'll have to look shit up to make sure I get everything right to match with canon
> 
> >fuck it we're doing it live


End file.
